Delights in the Unexpected
by undesirablenumber1
Summary: Ron and Hermione at the Burrow before Harry comes, I've always wondered about it, but this is only what happens there in my dreams! This was the first story I wrote, but not published, so I'm not crazy about it. Way too long of a one-shot. I OWN NOTHING


Ron heard the knock that he had been both anticipating and dreading for the past week. He loved seeing her, he loved every second he spent with her, fighting or otherwise, but this knock made his stomach lurch with anxiety. Rushing down the rickety spiral stairs of the Burrow, he tried to steady his breathing and shake off his nerves. Hermione was his best friend. But things were different when Harry wasn't around, and Harry would be at the Dursleys' for five more days. Five more days spent alone with Hermione.

He fiddled with the rusty lock and shook the door open. There she was. Without a second's hesitation, Hermione threw her arms around his neck and stayed there. Ron could feel her breathing heavily against his chest. She let go, looked up at him, and beamed.

"Hi." Ron looked down at her face, flushed and frenetic. He tried to suppress the smile throbbing inside him, but it was a hell of a lot harder than it should have been.

"I missed you." Hermione said suddenly, then looked startled. "You and Harry."

"Me too. Want to come in? It's hot out there." Ron said, taking her bags. Hermione blushed, but so very subtly.

"Thank you, Ronald. Where are the rest of the Weasleys?"

"Mum's out back doing the laundry, Dad's at work, Ginny's upstairs, and who can tell where the twins are…" Ron trailed off, stepping up the stairs with Hermione closely following.

They came to Ginny's door, outfitted with a Holyhead Harpies poster and slightly ajar. Ginny rushed out and hugged Hermione. As they exchanged girlish squeals, Ron retreated to his room, flopped facedown on his bed, and just thought. His frustrations had been pent up inside for four years. He had loved her since he was twelve, loved her every day, loved her through their arguments and loved her through the jealousy. And he felt like he could never tell her. If something was going to happen, it should have happened by now. Right? He couldn't take it any longer, and he knew that these five days would kill him.

"Tired?" came Hermione's voice from the doorway. Ron sat up with a start.

"Nah, just…." He was at a loss for words, as he often found himself when he was with her.

Hermione sat on his bed, inches away from Ron, and picked up a Chudley Cannons magazine from his floor. He watched her as her eyes flitted through the words, not minding the pictures. Ron caught himself loving the smallest things she did, like the fact that she would rather read miles of text than look at a picture. He wanted to kiss her. He had wanted to kiss her for four years.

"You want to know something?" Hermione said, looking up from the magazine and into Ron's face.

"What?" said Ron, suddenly very curious.

"I still don't understand this sport. I go to all of the matches and cheer when everyone else does, but I just don't get it." For the first time in a while, Hermione looked genuinely baffled.

"Really? Well it's quite easy, actually." Ron said, moving closer to her. He flipped the pages to one with lots of pictures. For a moment, they watched Galvin Gudgeon, the Seeker, zip past Gorgovitch, trying his hardest to get the Quaffle in, and Jenkins, brandishing his Beater's bat.

"That's Gudgeon. Bloody horrible Seeker, but no matter. You know about the Seeker, right? That's Harry's position." Ron asked hopefully.

"Yes, yes, I know about the Seeker. But what about all the rest?"

And so for 45 minutes, Ron explained to Hermione, in detail, the significances of Quaffles, Bludgers, Chasers, Beaters, and Keepers. He preached the excellence of the Chudley Cannons, despite them not having won a League Cup since 1892, and bashed the hell out of Puddlemere United. By the time he had wrapped up his explanation of the ten common Quidditch fouls (omitting the other 690), they were both in fits of laughter and Hermione's Quidditch knowledge was noticeably more extensive.

"You want to give it a go?" asked Ron with a mischievous smirk.

"I've never ridden a broom!" Hermione looked shocked.

"You can ride with me."

She tried to protest, but he grabbed her hand and shushed her.  
"Come on, 'Mione, we're playing. GIN!" he bellowed, and Ginny hurried out of her room looking annoyed.

"Get your broom, we're going to play a quick match." said Ron absentmindedly, still clutching Hermione's hand.

**oOo**

Hermione's head was racing, clattering with thoughts and feelings and nerves. His hand was strong around hers, warm and rough. She never wanted him to let go, and he didn't seem to want to. It was moments like this when she felt like he had some sort of feelings for her, but if that was true, why hadn't anything happened? She was overthinking things, she knew. But as he led her to the backyard, she couldn't help but smile.

"Come on, I think we have a few extra brooms in the shed." coaxed Ron, seeing her anxiety.

And the moment had to come. Ron released her hand.

"Want to try and mount it?" he said, eyebrow raised.

"I'll try…but will not succeed." Hermione looked dubious.

In an uncanny imitation of Madam Hooch, Ron exclaimed, "Place one hand over your broom and say UP!"

"Up. Up! UP!" But the broom stayed hopelessly stagnant. Ron's arm hovered centimeters from Hermione's, and he succeeded in levitating the broom with a forceful command of "UP!"

"Never thought I could do magic you couldn't, eh?" Ron chuckled. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Hoisting a leg over the broom, Ron invited Hermione on the back. She froze for a few moments and awkwardly maneuvered herself behind Ron.

"Hold on…" Ron murmured, and so Hermione snaked her arms around his waist and gripped tightly. Soon after, they were zooming through the air, and Hermione was laughing, and her hair was lashing here and there, whipping their faces, and they were giddy. She rested her chin on his shoulder, and his smell melted her, better than freshly mown grass, new parchment, or spearmint toothpaste. And with a final Ginny-scored goal, the match ended, the brooms floated to the ground, and Hermione's arms had to be taken from their delightful spot on Ron's waist.

**oOo**

Ron was sandwiched in between Hermione and Bill, part of the calamity that ensued during Weasley dinners. Fred was shooting the butter across the table with a non-verbal spell, Ginny was arguing with George, and Charlie, back from Romania for a few weeks of the summer, was telling anyone who would listen about the new species of Peruvian Vipertooth his team just discovered. But Ron was still on a high from Quidditch a few hours earlier. He wondered if he'd ever, _ever_ get closer to her. Putting the thought of her out of his head (not at all easy, as she was still mere inches away from him), he slurped a large spoonful of onion soup. And then he felt Hermione's hand slam down on his knee. _What was THAT? _

"Don't slurp, Ron, it's disgusting." Hermione glared at him, but it quickly morphed into a knowing smile. He expected her to withdraw her hand after the reprimand, but it stayed there. It stayed there, her fingers twiddling and tapping around his knee. She began tracing circles on the rough denim of his trousers. Ron couldn't focus on anything else even if he wanted to. The familiar tingle of Ron's ears turning shockingly scarlet kicked in, and Ron became even more self-conscious. _Is my entire family aware of what their sweet little Hermione was up to right now? Of course, it doesn't seem like a very romantic gesture, it wasn't as if she was stroking up and down my thigh, but still! She had never done this before…bloody hell, this hand is never going to leave, is it? I mean, I'm not complaining…_

**oOo**

"WEASLEYS! ANNOUNCEMENT!" Hermione woke, startled by Mr. Weasley's roars. Immediately she felt two pangs of humiliation- one for last night's heavily Ron-inhabited dream and another because she had just remembered the extreme flirtation she had pulled on him at dinner. It was so unlike her, so very unlike her, but she couldn't pull her hand away from him. He had that strange power over her. Rolling out of bed with her head down, she dragged herself out of Ginny's bedroom, still rubbing her eyes, and felt a sudden collision. Her and Ron's heads both shot up, now alert, and they broke into giggles. They walked together down the stairs, threatening to collapse with every wobbly step.

Once every Weasley member (plus Hermione) was present, Mr. Weasley cleared his throat to make his announcement.

"Everyone, I know it's late notice, but I've just gotten word that there's going to be a ball tonight at work for the inauguration of Rufus Scrimgeour, the new Minister that will be replacing Fudge, and I'd like you all to attend."

There was a clamor of complaints and noise from most of the gingers in the room, but Hermione kept quiet. Secretly, she couldn't wait.

**oOo**

"Bloody hell, why did he have to tell us 6 hours beforehand?" Ron stormed through his room, talking to himself. Different colored robes were strewn across the floor in disarray, signs of a stressful few hours. Ron wasn't sure he could handle a night like this. Hermione was beautiful- any man would have to be off his rocker not to think so, and there would be hundreds of important, handsome Ministry men at this event. He simply couldn't do it. Seeing her talking with other boys, laughing with other boys, dancing with other boys was an emotional Cruciatus Curse. He was dreading this night.

**oOo**

Ginny dug through her closet while Hermione lay on her bed skimming _Witch Weekly_, noting the elegant witches' dresses and hair for formal events. Ginny was her go-to for dresses, lipstick, and gallons of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. In only minutes, Ginny had fished out a shimmering golden dress for herself and a slinky red one for Hermione.

"How are you feeling about tonight? Nervous?" Ginny asked curiously.

"No…should I be?" Hermione replied worriedly.

"Oh no, nothing…" Ginny sounded noncommittal and frustratingly vague. Hermione didn't know what to make of it, but slipped on her dress and started work on her mane of hair. She pulled a hairbrush through it and wondered if tonight would be Ron's night.

_Will he become a little more mature tonight? Maybe just a dance. Even if he does just see me as a friend, he can dance with me. Friends dance with friends. But I don't want to be his friend. I want to be so much more than his friend. Boys, they're simply infuriating. _

**oOo**

Ten minutes until they were due to leave. Ten minutes until he would see her looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her, ten minutes until his nightmare would begin. Ron didn't want to step foot into the Ministry of Magic. He envisioned Hermione locked in the arms of some powerful department head, twirling and laughing. He had seen it happen before, and he hated the jealous monster that came out of him when he did. Ron heard footsteps.

And she was in front of him, beaming.

And she was so beautiful he wanted to kiss her right there. In front of his mum and Ginny and everyone. She was perfect, so bloody perfect.

**oOo**

Side-Along Apparition was not kind to Ron on his first time. Waves of threatening nausea came and went, and the horrible sensation had still not faded. But still he stood in the Atrium of the Ministry, brimming with well-dressed guests that were trying to make their way to the ball. Ron was nervous, no doubt, but he did think he looked rather sharp in some of Bill's old black velvet dress robes, hopefully sharp enough for Hermione.

Ron, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley moved as a giant cluster, pushing through crowds to get to the ballroom entrance, which, once they arrived, was quite grand. Twinkling lights were enchanted to float above the guests, bouquets of white roses were artfully arranged upon each table, and cello strings were being plucked and trilled from the back of the ballroom. Ron found an empty table and slumped in his seat, observing the scene around him. The twins had already found some young witches to talk up, Bill was conversing with some Ministry bloke, and Hermione…had found her way to the dance floor. She was laughing and dancing with Ginny for now, but he was sure that would change before long…dammit. A slow song began to swell from the cellos, and couples flocked to dance. Palms clammy, Ron buried his face in his hands and sighed, wondering why he was still waiting so long.

_Is it too late? Of course it is…I shouldn't even bother, she's got her share of Bulgarian bonbons, she doesn't need me._ Mad thoughts trickled through his mind. He looked up. And Hermione was not on the dance floor, rather, enjoying a flagon of cold pumpkin juice and talking with Mrs. Weasley. Had she simply left when the slow song started playing? Ron found this odd…_she seemed to be having fun dancing. Wait…_

**oOo**

Hermione couldn't bear it any longer. Ron Weasley was a complete idiot. Was he so oblivious to not notice her lack of dancing for _three_ _songs_? Did he think that Hermione simply wanted to watch everyone else have fun while brooding in a corner? Hermione wanted Ron to ask her to dance and that was that. She inspected the scene around her. Ginny was clasped in the arms of a muscular blond wizard wearing a very large Ministry badge on his robes. Her face lit up as he lifted her into the air. Hermione wanted that, just with a certain red-haired sixteen year old. Examining the rest of the scene, she locked eyes with that boy, just for a second, then prayed that that would be the impetus he needed. She waited.

_Oh Merlin, he's coming over. Is this going to be it? Is he going to pluck up the courage?_

He stood in front of her and extended his hand. The same hand she loved holding so much when he led her to play Quidditch, and now it would be hers for a whole song, maybe more. She gladly took his hand, and he squeezed it as he led her to the floor. She wondered what kind of a dancer he would be, knowing full well his only dance training had come from seconds with McGonagall fourth year. Awkwardly placing one hand on her waist, Ron took her other hand and began a clumsy effort at a waltz. His gaucherie made Hermione giggle.

"What're you laughing at?" Ron jokingly accused. She said nothing, but just smiled. As the song wore on, Ron became more comfortable. His hand, previously hovering over her skin, barely skimming it, now clung to the curve of Hermione's waist. He folded his fingers over hers. He twirled her, eliciting a high-pitched squeal of her delighting in the unexpected. The song slowed down, only a single melody of fluid violins. He pulled her closer. She laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in his smell and feeling his hand trace in circles along her waist.

And in both of their heads, the dance seemed to last for hours.

**oOo**

Ron lay spread-eagled on his bed facing the ceiling, a position he had taken to assume when Hermione had taken up too much of his brain for him to remain moving. He lay like this when he had a lot to think about, thoughts that all concerned their relationship. Ticking through a mental list of racing ideas, Ron's head felt close to exploding.

_DOES SHE LIKE ME?_

_Well of course she bloody likes you, but does she LOVE you? _

_**I**__ love her. Does she love me like I love her?_

_She was certainly very touchy-feely when I was dancing with her. She didn't dance with me like Harry and Parvati did at the Yule Ball… _

_I mean, she really didn't. She put her head on my shoulder!_

_But she's my best friend. She would put her head on Harry's shoulder too, I'm sure…_

_Would she?_

Every one of her touches was remembered. Ron remembered each significant stroke and wondered if she did too. He remembered the way she had clutched his hand back after he had twirled her. He remembered how she had cozied her head up to his neck after she put it on his shoulder. He remembered how, at some points, she seemed to press up closer to him. They couldn't _all _be accidents.

**oOo**

Hermione stood at the entrance of Ron's bedroom doorway. Her hair was sticking out, her high heels were dangling from her fingers, and her lipstick was slightly smeared; she looked perfect.

"I thought you were going to dance with someone else." Ron said with a weak smile.

"You're the only person I want to dance with. You're the only person I've ever really wanted to dance with." she replied, her arms nervously swaying at her sides.

"Not even Vicky?"

"Not even Vicky." She shook her head and gave a sad sort of smile.

She seemed to glide to him. Ron knew it was the moment. He slipped his finger behind her ear, tucking in a piece of stray hair. Wrapping his arms around her waist, and hers around his neck, he could feel his head spin. Their heads were inches apart, their breathing was heavy and frenzied, and he kissed her. Four years worth of kisses were in that kiss. Four years of frustration and jealousy and waiting. Her arms around his neck squeezed tighter and tighter, her hands ruffling his red hair. They pulled away, and Ron saw tears spilling from the sides of Hermione's eyes.

"Why're you crying, 'Mione?"

"I've just been waiting so damn long, Ronald." she said with a tearful laugh.

"I'm sorry I'm such a complete idiot." He looked down at her face- now a beautiful mix of laughter and tears and her smile.

He kissed the tears away, and kissed her some more. And he could kiss her for hours, without interruptions from Harry or any of the other Weasleys, who were all tucked away in bed. Which is exactly what they did, making up for years of lost time. Hermione collapsed onto Ron on his bed, and they just lay there, her head nestled in his neck, her arm resting across his chest. And that was how they slept that night.


End file.
